Getting out of bed is hard. Breaking from sleep, moving, opening your eyes, it’s so tiresome that one usually falls asleep immediately afterwards. Sirius was having difficulty with getting up not because of sleep, but there was a very large object asleep on his left arm. It was curvy and naked and smelt an awful lot like gardenia mint. There, perched on its side facing away from Sirius, it rudely slept on. This matter was to be handled in the same fashion as removing a band-aid: quickly. So, with a “Hunn!”, Sirius yanked his left arm out from underneath the body.
“Mmmmmm,” it groaned.
Fixing his hand around on the floor, Sirius located his pants and began getting dressed. This was always the hard part of leaving after a one-night-stand. In a way, getting dressed and leaving should have been a national sport. It was, after all, played every single morning in some households across the country. Sirius stood up, and the room fell backwards on top of him like a deflating balloon. Hang over. Wonderful.
Belt, shoes, shirt, other shirt, jacket, good; he made for the door.
“Mmmmm,” it rolled over, “…Jack?”
Sirius froze with the doorknob in hand, “Hey…”
The woman sat up on her elbows to look at him. A pleasant previous night experience was seen in her glowing face.
“I have work,” Sirius lied.
“I remember,” she smiled and clutched a pillow nearby, her eyes making their way up and down, “I’ll hear from you some other time I suppose?”
Sirius cracked an aristocratic smile, “Of course,” he waved.
Sirius was halfway down the third flight of stairs when he realized his wand was not in its usual place inside his jacket. Cursing himself a storm, Sirius bounded back up the stairs, recalling all the times McGonagall scolded him for forgetting his wand. A bit silly for a wizard, but Sirius always saw magic as being a bit pompous. But just as Sirius landed on the right floor, a muted explosion came from the apartment he was headed towards. Leaving no time to guess what it could be, Sirius apparated into the bedroom. No smoke or fire greeted him. No signs of danger, or open wires. The only thing terribly wrong about the room he just appeared in was the woman in bed. Sirius’s wand clutched in hand, she sat straight up against the headboard - dead.
I THINK I DID IT.
I THINK IT'S WORKING.
I was in the middle of ...um...."showering"....and I suddenly felt the need to rip and roar.
I want to be a dragon.
In the future, the Marauders would come to be legend and inseparable at times.
But that time is not now, for at this particular moment, Sirius Black was attempting the second stage in illegal transformation. Thinking hard of what McGonagall occasionally drops or mentions about Animagi Trans, he decided to focus on...well....focusing.
It's not like apparation where the Three D's will get him from place to place.
Sirius settled with clearing his mind and letting the shape come to him. After all, clearing ones mind is what Sirius was best at.
And so, on this chilly, wet January day Black was beside himself in the Gryiffindor common room staring well off into space.
Sirius Black's body was simply a wreak. Most men pray for the experience to come over summer. That way, one can easily lock ones self in a room or broom closet and cease to come out until transformation is complete. Much like a Butterfly.
But boys are not butterflies, they are human beings.
Though any adult would argue the pubescent male is FAR from human; Sirius was coming to gripes with his age.
"My knees hurt," he absently stated to Peter during Potions.
"Prof-FES-sor," croaked Black during Care of Magical Creatures.
"I can't feel my face," was said to Remus on several occasions. But the feeling of numbness on Black's part was not from puberty, but more so from the frequent sting of slaps received from girls after a remark about their bust size was mentioned.
This did not discourage Sirius, for he seemed to enjoy the pain.
...What a sauce.
I don't want to go home!
I HATE GOING HOME.
James, Remus....save me.
Visible only to James and Peter
I have a hefty stack of Transfiguration books that need some eye-glossing.
Visible to All
Glorious findings today!
Martha McHiggins has the Biggest Bust I've seen this side of Berlin Wall.
visible only to James Potter, Remus 'worries-too-much' Lupin, and Pete Pettigrew.
BROTHERS IN ARMS AND COUNTRY!
Now that we understand and know about Remus's "Hairy little problem", and agree that is really doesn't bother us at all; I say we converse to talk on how this will benefit our friendship.
I speak to Peter and James when I say: Remus needs us! Mentally! Emotionally! Sex-Physi... Emotionally!!
Besides, I think we need a name.
Like the Three Musketeers,
...and The Beatles.
Who wants to get naked and start the revolution?
Sirius Black was procrastinating on Defense homework for a very important reason: Remus. His brains being still racked with worries about his friend lead the 4th year to the Magical Medical Encyclopedia vol. 1-87. Currently the boy was thumbing through the B’s. Among the ailments he had read about so far, 14 of them seemed to fit the mold of what Remus “has”.
Using all the neurons under that fluffy black hair, Sirius began to make conclusions.
He could have Bellefoneria, in which every several weeks, weeds start growing out of ones pores instead of hair.
Or Betrotrickanosa; a common hereditary disease found mostly in males; in which minor 72 hour commas strike the victim monthly.
Bulbaphyrasis, enlargement of the genitals due to inflammation; requires draining assistance.
Oh whatever, girls; you just TRY and top the ideas I have floating around my head.
James and I have been talking.
Oh yes, and when I mean talking I mean stock piling weapons of mass embarassment ready to dispose at any given moment to the said target (and crap Snape).
VICTORY FOR ALL MANKIND!
As friend, I've taken it upon myself to secretly go behind his back and stalk his next absence.
With aid from Peter and James, of course.
We will get to the bottom of this- even if it kills us.
Well, not really kills. Perhaps along the lines of severe bantering.
He's at it again!
Who just gets sick that easy? Really something is not right.
"HOW TO SNEAK BY FILCH"
- Rubber Cement
- "My Witch Wonders" Nuddy Magazine
In picking a spot in which mischief is to be done smear a small amount of rubber cement to its entry way and the ball of yarn a ways before it. When Mrs. Norris (Hell Cat extraordinaire) becomes enticed with the yarn (as all cats do because its in there blood- they can't help it), she will a) be distracted and b) if she comes too close, will become stuck. Giving you, the rightful wrong-doer, about 3 minutes to finish up. Place Dirty Magazine near Mrs. Norris to distract Filch and leave him in a great mood. This works to both advantages, seeing that after he takes care of Mrs. Norris, he'll most likely retire to his quarters for a little wand polishing. Therefore, you, may continue on in a carefree manner.
- Mr. S. Black
YES! YES! Victory!
Praise to the spot-cream from Madame Ophelia’s Facial Maladies and Co.
Oh puberty, how I welcome thee with open arms.
I sometimes wonder what I’d look like older. For this, I look at the gaudy portraits of my ancestors that hang in the second floor gallery. One word: Bone structure. This is good, my baby fat that will be gone soon. Good good. Now, what am I to do about this hairy issue? Father was a well groomed man. His portrait depicts slicked black hair and sharp, bushy eyebrows.
Mother is impeccable.
Ironically, I feel my last name characterizes my appearance as well as heritage rather well: I’m Black through and through.
Now, if only I knew more about my family history…
Sirius Black cracked his knuckles and kicked his feet up onto the chair in front of him. Slouching his small frame into the desk, he sighed, eye lids relaxing halfway as Professor Binns’s monotone voice echoed on and on about the Pilgrimage of Hags (1100-1104).
This was torture.
In a vain attempt to keep himself awake and amused, Sirius blew bubbles with his spit.
Oh hello, journal, how are you?
Thought so, you mute bastard. I've been better myself. Loads of Transfiguration homework certainly does bog the senses down. I completely forgot that today I was supposed to thwart the Slytherin Quidditch try-outs by personally sitting my ass in the stands and laughing.
But as nature has it, other things got in the way. And it’s name was Janis J. Richmon.
Way to snitch me out, sassafras, I wasn’t REALLY going to set the snakes free. Honestly, 2 weeks of detention is very unfair for suspicion of crime.
Eh, but Flich is off his – hahaha, look who just walked into the common room…
HEY JANIS, TURN DOWN THE SEETHING, I’M TRYING TO READ.
--oh god, she glared back.
That’s too be expected. 5th years think they are so much better. Little do they know that a;lj
It is to be recorded that the interruption of that last sentence was in part of Ms. Richmon’s pulling Mr. Black from his chair, and thrusting the parchment authorizing 2 weeks of detention, down the front of Mr. Black’s pants. We now continue…
I think I’m in love.
Not to sound like I'm turning into Miss Clavel, but Somthing is not right!.
Remus is gone - again - to the Hospital Wing.
Meeting on my bed in 15.
ALL ENTRIES AFTER THIS ARE FROM SIRIUS BLACK CIRCA 1975, AGE 14; THEREFORE IS IN RELATION TO marauder_life
and to mark this off more clearly, I'm seperating it with a picture of Barry Manilow.
The Infinite Teen Slang Dictionary